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  "Go ahead and cry if you need to," Thomas said gruffly above her head. "I won't melt."

  It would be so tempting to give in. Just surrender to the press of emotions and weep in his arms.

  She couldn't, though. She didn't dare. Already she could feel the seductive softening of her heart, feel all those old emotions she had fought so hard to bury fighting their way to the surface.

  She didn't want them to re-emerge. She didn't know if she could bear it.

  He would never know the effort it took her to choke down those emotions and step away from his comfort. "I'd better go check to make sure the children aren't running Mrs. Cope ragged."

  He wore a strange expression and opened his mouth as if to say something but then apparently changed his mind and stepped even farther away.

  "Yes. That's probably a good idea."

  She turned toward the door but his voice stopped her. "Sophie, thank you for staying. It helped to have you here. But if I'd known what they were here about, I never would have asked you to stay. I'm sorry I put you through that."

  She gazed at him, looking strong and masculine and gorgeous in the waning light spilling through the window. Oh, it would be far too easy to fall for him all over again.

  She drew in a deep breath, searching for that damn elusive center of control inside herself. With a nod, she turned and left the room to find the children.

  Chapter 7

  A few hours later Sophie sat on the edge of Peter and Shelly's bed combing wet tangles out of Ali's long hair. Thomas was reading with the twins in their bedroom and the house was quiet, settled.

  She had to admit, these bedtime rituals were starting to grow on her. She loved these quiet moments with Ali when the two of them could talk without the constant chatter of the twins.

  At ten, Ali showed remarkable depths, Sophie was discovering. Conversing with her was a joy—her niece had a quick, lively mind and Shelly's quiet sense of humor.

  As much as she enjoyed listening to Ali's conversation, Sophie had to admit after the stress of the day, she found this hairbrushing routine soothing. It was something she and Shelly used to do for each other, so sharing it with Shelly's daughter was like walking down a comfortable, familiar pathway.

  The brush caught on a particularly snarled section and Ali winced.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to yank."

  "It's okay. It didn't hurt much," her niece replied.

  "Well, I'm almost finished."

  "Okay." Ali paused, then without turning her head she shifted her gaze to meet Sophie's. "Aunt Sophie, did those people who were here earlier want to talk to you and Uncle Tommy about my mom and dad?"

  The sudden question took her off guard and for several moments Sophie scrambled for what to say. She couldn't very well tell the child what the FBI agents had said, about the possibility that someone might have deliberately caused the crash that killed Peter and Shelly. Not when, as Tom pointed out, they had little more on which to base suspicion at this point than a handful of speculation.

  On the other hand, she didn't want to lie to the girl, either. She and Shelly had been fed a steady diet of lies and half truths by Sharon. Sometimes she didn't think her mother really knew the difference between the truth and a convenient lie.

  What used to really baffle her was that Sharon chose stupid things to lie about, too, like whether the power bill had been paid and why her new boyfriend wore a hairpiece.

  Sharon hadn't cared whether her lies were at all believable or not. Even two seven-year-old girls weren't naive enough to really think their father had been a famous country-music star who would have married Sharon except he already had a wife and family.

  Even then, as young as they had been, they accepted that Sharon probably hadn't had a clue who their father was. They did know it was unlikely he had been a famous country-music star or Sharon would have figured out a way to milk the man for everything he had.

  As a result of growing up in Sharon's fantasy world, Sophie had vowed if she ever had children, she would try her best to be straight with them whenever possible.

  "Yes," she finally answered Ali. "They're part of the investigation into what caused the crash."

  That was truthful, as far as it went. It just wasn't the whole truth.

  "Do they…do they know anything yet?"

  "No. Not yet, sweetheart."

  She prayed Ali would let the topic drop. To her relief, her niece didn't seem any more eager to probe the painful topic than Sophie.

  "Mama always brushed my hair before I went to bed," Ali said after a moment. "It always helped me fall right to sleep."

  Her heart ached with sympathy for all Ali had lost. She set aside the brush and gave her a quick hug. "Your mom and I used to brush each other's hair when we were your age. You're right, I always found it very relaxing. There were lots of times when I was traveling when I would have been willing to give away every single thing in my suitcase just to have someone sit with me and brush my hair before bedtime."

  "I'm going to miss it," Ali said in a quiet little whisper that just about shattered Sophie's heart into a million pieces.

  The twins' occasional flashes of baffled grief were certainly not easy to deal with. But Sophie wondered if in many ways Ali wouldn't feel the loss of her parents more keenly.

  She was at an age where she and Shelly had been starting to lay the groundwork for a deeper, more mature relationship. In her infrequent visits, Sophie had seen enough of the bond between her sister and Ali to know the girl had lost not only her mother but her friend.

  More than anything, she wished she had words that might give comfort but she knew nothing would ease this pain. Time might take away some of the brutal sting but the emptiness would always be there.

  "Oh, honey," she finally murmured. "I'll keep brushing your hair every night just as long as you want me to. That's a solemn vow."

  Ali looked over her shoulder and offered up a tiny smile. Sophie fought the urge to pull the child into her arms again and engage in another good cry. That would do nothing but upset Ali, though. Besides, she had done enough weeping for one night. Enough for a lifetime of nights.

  She managed a smile in return then looked away quickly before Ali could be upset further by the tears she feared were gathering in her eyes. Her gaze landed on the mantel of the ornate white marble fireplace in the room. A flash of shiny red sparkled against the pale marble like rubies spilled in snow.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, setting down the brush and walking to the mantel for a closer look. "Will you look at this? This is the lacquer box I sent your mother from one of my first overseas assignments! It was from this tiny fishing village on the Black Sea in Russia. I was wandering through the market and spied this little old lady sitting in front of a whole stall overflowing with these. She was the sweetest lady. I couldn't resist her or her boxes, especially when I saw this one. I can't believe Shelly kept it all this time!"

  Ali joined her. "Mama loved that box. She always said that whenever she looked at it, you didn't seem so far away. She could almost pretend she was seeing the world right along with you."

  That damn relentless guilt pinched at her again. "I bought it because the angel painted on it reminded me of your mother. See, she has the same pretty blond hair and green eyes?"

  "That's funny. She always said it reminded her of you."

  Sophie wrinkled up her nose. "I don't think so. I'm not very angelic-looking, am I?"

  Ali laughed, as Sophie had hoped she would. "She does look more like my mama than you."

  On impulse, she took the box from the shelf and held it out to her niece. "Al, why don't you take it?"

  Ali gasped. "Can I?"

  If she were to get technical, Sophie supposed the box could be considered part of Shelly's estate, something to be disposed of by the executor. But it was only an inexpensive souvenir box with little value beyond sentiment. Since it had been her own gift to her sister, she didn't think Tom would mind if she gave it now to Ali.
r />   "It's yours. Put it somewhere in your room, and then whenever you see it you can remember that an angel who looks just like that one watches over you and the twins now."

  Ali's radiant smile glowed brighter than a fire under that mantel ever could. She was so pleased that Sophie only wished she could find that little grandmother in Jurilovca and buy two more exactly like it for the twins. She would have to find something else of Shelly's to give them.

  "Come on. Let's find a spot of honor for it in your bedroom."

  After considering all her options, Ali finally settled on her bedside table as a new home for the box.

  "That way, I can see it every night before I fall asleep."

  "Good idea." Sophie touched her shoulder, then the two of them went in search of the twins for a last good-night.

  When they walked through the door of the twins' room, Sophie opened her mouth to apologize for taking so long with Ali's hair, then stopped short, struck by the sight that greeted them.

  The twins were sharing Zoe's bed, curly heads close together as they bent over a picture book, while their uncle was stretched out on the other bed, his shoes off. He was fast asleep, a book whose title she couldn't see open on his chest.

  Sophie had so rarely seen him in such a vulnerable state that she could do nothing but stare at the picture he made. He looked so much younger in sleep, relaxed, without the commanding authority usually stamped on his strong features.

  He was gorgeous enough when he was awake. At rest like this, she found him devastating. She wanted to smooth that lock of dark hair away from his face, to tuck a quilt around his shoulders, to lie beside him and feel his chest rise and fall with the rhythm of each breath….

  "Shhh," Zoe whispered. "Uncle Tommy fell asleep."

  "I can see that," Sophie whispered back, reining in her inappropriate thoughts. "Did you get a story first?"

  "He started to read us one but didn't get very far so we decided to read to ourselves," Zach answered.

  Sophie smiled. "That was nice of you to let your uncle get some rest. He's working really hard right now."

  "Just like Daddy always did," Zoe said with a little grimace. "That's why Mommy said he didn't have time to play with us very much, 'cause he always had to work."

  She wondered if Peter would have made more opportunities to spend with his children if he knew his time with them would be cut so brutally short. Probably not. She doubted anything would be able to change her opinion that the man had been a total bastard who didn't give a single damn about his children.

  "Why don't we all go have one more story in the other room so Uncle Tommy can rest a little longer."

  They agreed and slipped down from Zoe's bed. The three children followed her back into the room she had taken as her own by default, Peter and Shelly's room.

  Though she still felt a little strange staying here, it made the most sense that she continue using it. This was the only available bedroom in this part of the house. If she wanted to be close to the children, this was just about her only option.

  Tom had a room downstairs, closer to his father's apartment. If she slept downstairs in one of the guest rooms in the other wing of the house, there would be no one nearby if one of the twins woke and needed something in the night.

  The children seemed to find comfort being here, anyway. By their easy familiarity with the room, she had a feeling they had spent a great deal of time with Shelly here.

  They read one short story. Though all three children begged for another, Sophie tried to be firm. "Come on. You all have school tomorrow. You need your rest."

  "We haven't said our prayers, Aunt Sophie," Zoe said suddenly on the way out the door.

  "We haven't said them in a while," Zach added.

  "We probably should," Ali offered.

  Right. Prayers. Every time she turned around, Sophie stumbled into another area of parenthood she should be remembering.

  She hoped they knew what they were doing in the prayer department because it wasn't exactly her area of expertise.

  She could tell them about Santeria and Taoism and Umbanda. But when it came to any kind of organized Western religion, her experience was limited to a brief summer when Sharon had sent her and Shelly to a free Bible school run by a local Pentecostal congregation.

  Sophie suspected her mother's motives had more to do with getting the girls out of her hair for a couple hours during the day than out of any compelling desire to have them find God. She remembered snippets of a few rousing songs and making bottle art out of layers of colored sand but that was about it.

  She made a mental note to ask Tom if he knew what church Shelly and Peter had attended with the children so she could make an effort to take them. That was exactly the kind of continuity that would help them cope with the loss of their parents.

  To her relief, the children didn't appear to need much help from her with their prayers. They knelt by the side of the bed and each took turns murmuring a few phrases.

  Zoe made her smile when she asked for new roller-blades so she could skate exactly like her sister and her poor battered heart cracked a little more when each child prayed that their parents would be happy in Heaven.

  After the last amen, she stood up. "Time for bed now, piglets. Come on, no more excuses."

  "Aunt Sophie, where should I sleep tonight?" Zach asked. "Uncle Tommy is in my bed."

  "Not anymore," a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

  All of them looked quickly toward the door. Tom stood with his shoulder propped against the jamb, his hair slightly mussed and sleepy shadows lingering in his eyes. Her breathing kicked up a notch and she wondered how long he'd been standing there watching them.

  "See. Problem solved," she said to Zach, hoping nobody else noticed the little hitch in her voice. "Now scoot, you guys."

  She delivered hugs and kisses then watched as the children received more of the same from their uncle. After the last hug, they finally headed for their respective bedrooms, leaving her and Tom alone.

  All this domesticity never failed to unnerve her. Of all the men she'd ever met, Thomas Canfield was the last one she might have expected to find herself running a family with.

  She wasn't sure exactly why, but she couldn't help thinking it was oddly disturbing that they seemed to work so well together, at least when it came to the children.

  Maybe because the rest of the time—when it was just the two of them, like now—a subtle tension hummed and sparked between them.

  His mouth twisted ruefully. "I guess I didn't do a very good job with storytime. Sorry about that."

  "I didn't mind reading to them. I like it, actually. Besides, you looked as if you could use the rest."

  "It has been a hairy couple of days. I have a feeling things will only get worse from this point, especially if there are problems at Canfield I don't know about."

  His words served as a grim reminder of their meeting with the FBI agents earlier. All evening she'd been trying not to dwell on the terrible possibility that Shelly and Peter might have been murdered.

  "Tom, will you keep me informed?" she asked suddenly. "I would like to know if you find anything that might lead you to believe Shelly and Peter's accident was caused by someone else."

  He looked surprised at her request. "Of course I will. Do you really think I would try to keep something like that from you?"

  She shrugged. "Both of us know any problems at Canfield are really none of my business. It's your family's firm and I'm really not family."

  "I meant what I said to the FBI. You have as much right to know what happened on that highway as I do. You're part of this."

  She smiled a little to convey her gratitude, then her breath caught when his gaze shifted to her mouth. Something wild and hot kindled in his eyes.

  He wanted to kiss her. She'd never been more sure of anything in her life. Her stomach fluttered and started a long, slow burn.

  They stood looking at each other for a long moment while the air around th
em seemed to sizzle and pop, then Tom finally wrenched his gaze away.

  "I'd better get back to work. Good night."

  With a jerky abruptness at odds with his usual athletic grace, he turned and walked from the room.

  For a long time, Sophie stood by the bed staring at an empty doorway while her pulse raced and her insides quivered like the time she'd been caught in an earthquake in Colombia.

  * * *

  This was getting to be a bad habit.

  Sophie glanced at the glowing LCD numbers of the clock by her bed. A little after 1:00 a.m. and something had awakened her again. She sighed and stretched a kink out of her neck. This was probably the most luxurious mattress she'd slept on in months, yet she hadn't had a full night's sleep since she got here.

  She tried to put a finger on what had awakened her but couldn't come up with anything concrete, just a vague feeling that something wasn't as it should be.

  Perhaps one of the children had awakened. The room was dim, lit only by weak moonlight filtering in through the windows, but she glanced toward the door that led into the hallway.

  Hadn't she left it ajar for this very reason, so she could hear the children if one of them cried out in the night?

  She frowned and switched on the low-watt lamp by the bed. As soon as she did, she realized what must have happened. After her encounter with Tom she'd been restless and unable to sleep. She remembered opening the sliding door leading to the balcony so she could enjoy the cool, sweetly scented night air coming in off the garden.

  She must have fallen asleep before she had a chance to close it again. A strong breeze easily could have blown through and closed the door. That might even have been what awakened her.

  She rose from the bed and grabbed the silky emerald robe she'd bought off a street vendor in Bali, then opened the door into the hallway first, listening to make sure none of the children were stirring. Satisfied after several moments that they were still sleeping, she crossed the room to the sliding doors.

  Instead of closing them as she had intended, she paused, struck by the view. Through the spindly tree trunks she could see moonlight gleaming on the water. Wispy tendrils of fog drifted off the sea, curving sinuously through the trees.